After Rita Vidaurri's show-stopping, scene-stealing performance at the unveiling of the new Lydia Mendoza postage stamp at the Guadalupe Theater last week, maybe the singer should just skip her 89th birthday Wednesday and go straight to 90.

A big, round number is more befitting of her outsized personality and talents.

Perhaps Vidaurri will do it, bend time a little. After all, she was named for Saint Rita of Cascia, the patron saint of the impossible — an intercessor for the abused, for those in mourning, for the lonely.

In many ways, Vidaurri and “the impossible” have walked hand in hand. It's hard to imagine the confident singer, famous for her slightly naughty, Cantinflas-style jokes, as a painfully shy, often-sad youngster.

“I've suffered since I was a little girl,” Vidaurri said matter-of-factly.

She was born May 24, 1924, in a tiny house in the 600 block of Montezuma Street not far from the corner where the Guadalupe Theater was later built.

She was the oldest of three children born to Juan and Susie Vidaurri.

Her parents were poor.

Vidaurri's father operated a gas station in the neighborhood and a small beer joint at the corner of Buena Vista and Frio streets. In later years, he became politically active; he was known as “El Viejito” in the barrio. In July 1977, a small park on Merida Street was renamed for him.

Vidaurri credits her mother, a cleaning woman, for her singing career. When she was 12, her mom would take her to Teatro Nacional downtown to sing. She emulated Mendoza and Eva Garza.

With her sister, Henrietta, she performed as Las Hermanitas Vidaurri in the late 1930s. They made their first recording at Tomas Acuña's garage studio on the West Side, taking “furniture for my mother” in lieu of royalties. The tunes were “Alma Angelina” and “Atotonilco.”

The joy was short-lived.

Vidaurri was 15 when her mother died of tuberculosis at age 31.

The teenage girl was left to care for siblings Henrietta and Juan.

“I was the one with the load to carry,” she said. “My mother made me promise to take care of them. She called my brother 'El Pollito.' My sister got married real young, and I was stuck with my father and my little brother.”

Vidaurri coped. She went to night school at Lanier High School. She also worked as a mechanic at her dad's garage.

“He treated me like a boy,” Vidaurri said.

That didn't last long since she soon gained notoriety.

Her father took her to Monterrey, Mexico, to sing on the advice of Cantinflas. She learned how insular her life had been at a nightclub called El Partenón.

“They made fun of me. They used to call me
'la pocha,'” said Vidaurri, adding that she only knew three songs — “Guadalajara,” “Jalisco” and “Por Un Amor” — and dressed as a charro in high heels to perform.

“It's like you're not Mexican and you're not American,
gringa, you're a mix,” she said. “It hurt me because in those years, I thought of myself as Mexicana.”

But her voice commanded respect, “low but real loud.”

“The keys I sing in are the keys of the man,” Vidaurri said.

She was soon performing on radio shows in Mexico City and with Celia Cruz and Olga Guillot in Cuba. In her hometown, she was known as the Jax Beer poster girl.

She developed her song and comedy act by accident after breaking a guitar string onstage. An orchestra musician offered to fix it but urged her “to say something.”

“I had heard this joke where two old men go to get a free lunch,” she said. “That was the first, and the people laughed. I said, 'OK, my guitar is ready, let me sing another song.' And they yelled, 'Another joke, another joke,
otro chiste.' From there I started. I used to be very serious. Now, that I'm old, I'm always joking.”

For all the laughter, her life has often been filled with sadness and mourning. She outlived her three sons; all died relatively young. She has a daughter, but the two aren't particularly close.

She gave up a successful career in the late 1950s at the insistence of one of her husbands. It's only been recently that Vidaurri has received wider recognition. Her revival has led to the rediscovery of singers Blanca Rodriguez, Beatriz Llamas and Janet Cortez.

They perform collectively as Las Tesoros, a group formed through the Esperanza. Vidaurri also played a role in the rediscovery of Eva Garza, who died in 1966.

But she's not super woman. She has suffered three heart attacks, and she had a quadruple bypass in 2009. Despite the bravado and wisecracking, she's says she's often lonely.

KEDA DJ Mark “El Tacuache” Weber spins Vidaurri's music on his Sunday program and sometimes does yard work at her home.

“I love him as if he were my own child. He has been so good to me,” she said.

Weber says he's “kind of like a substitute son.”

“I just call her every once in awhile and we talk. We'll go out and drink beer together,” Weber said.

For her part, Vidaurri has this birthday message for the younger generation: “If you have parents, please give them a call on the phone. Don't forget to call once in awhile.”